


Crush (on) you

by MisakillDatMonkey



Series: Saruhiko and Misaki were sitting in the tree... K I S S I N G [3]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Assuming knife throwing is fluff material, Blood and Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisakillDatMonkey/pseuds/MisakillDatMonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was interrupted when the air simply left his lungs. The moment Saruhiko snapped at his words and pushed him hard into the pavement. Misaki’s eyes widen but he was too busy coughing to expulse the blood in his mouth to insult the other when he crouched over him. The knife clinked when it fell on the floor, his boot disappearing from his chest. His bloody hand replaced it, traveling higher until it stopped and circled Misaki’s throat with delicacy. Like a caress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crush (on) you

“You fucking liar,” Misaki spat, wiping the blood at the corner of his mouth.

“Not a liar, Miiiisaki~,” Fushimi purred, turning slowly around the other like a hunter pacing around his prey. “Because we don’t share views doesn’t make me a liar…”

“If you’re not lying now, then you lied before! It’s all the same, Saru! You were never honest! You just crushed everything I believed in, everything _we_ believed in!”

Misaki's eyes burnt, tears were forming slowly, menacing at their corners. He was half laying on the hard ground, propped on one elbow. His knees were covered in blood and dirt, and his sweat-shirt hung loosely on a shoulder, baring the old scar he had got from an older encounter on the Island high school.

“I didn’t lie Misaki. I never lied to you!” Saruhiko drawled.

The lanky boy came closer, towering Misaki, juggling with one of his knifes. The hand holding the hilt of his sword was covered in blood from a shallow cut on his forearm. But he was grinning. That manic, indecent grin.

“I never said I worshipped your precious Mikoto-san! Therefore I’m not lying when I say I couldn’t care less he’s dead!” The swordsman laughed remorselessly.

Misaki’s aura burst around him, his eyes sparkling with a fiery rage.

“You’re the one who’s dead!” He yelled, trying to get up but Saruhiko was faster.

He shoved his left boot right in his former friend’s chest, keeping him on the ground.

“How can you say that?” Misaki yelled again, unaware of the sting where the boot dug in his chest. He gripped hard at Saruhiko’s ankle but didn’t try to move it. Amber orbs were focused on the blue ones. “Why did you bother to pretend all this time? Where you happy to hurt me? Is this what you wanted? Well you got it, _Saru_! You had it the day you left me broken in that fucking alley! No need to chase me and do it over and over, you sadistic bas…”

He was interrupted when the air simply left his lungs. The moment Saruhiko snapped at his words and pushed him hard into the pavement. Misaki’s eyes widen but he was too busy coughing to expulse the blood in his mouth to insult the other when he crouched over him. The knife clinked when it fell on the floor, his boot disappearing from his chest. His bloody hand replaced it, traveling higher until it stopped and circled Misaki’s throat with delicacy. Like a caress. Except the blood and the tension turned it into a threat. Although there was no pressure under his cold fingers, Misaki couldn’t move. He was paralyzed as Saruhiko leant over his shivering body.

He was scary, his attitude was scary and yet Homra’s vanguard wasn’t scared. He was simply hurt. Not _only_ physically. The real pain was to hold Saru’s mad and burning gaze. Mad, burning, and hurt gaze. The psychotic grin just made it worse.

“Why are you asking the wrong questions Misaki? Always! You never ever understood, right?” Saruhiko muttered, his fingers convulsing around the older’s throat. “You just thought about you and your precious ideals, crying like a little girl when I crushed them…” His husky laugh pierced the cold air of the alley. “But you never thought about my ideals. It’s true, right? Maybe if I had cried like you, if I had wept over it you’d have noticed? But surely _I_ didn’t crushed everything we believed in…”

The pressure around Misaki’s neck increased but he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t breathe with or without it anyway. The once menacing tears were now streaming on his cheeks as the person he had cared the most for in his life bent more and more, until the moment he could feel the cold and wet lips moving against his temple.

“ _You_ did.”

The pressure vanished almost immediately. Cold lips disappearing – leaving a scorching heat creeping under his skin. And Saruhiko himself seemed to fade from his view; but it was only because of his tears. He was still there, though. Standing steady before the vanguard, arms wide open, no more grinning.

“The life we wanted,” he uttered and Misaki hunched at the words because he started to understand, indeed. “Our ideals. Our small, little world… You cut me out of it and crushed it. Now call me a betrayer for leaving if you want, _Misaki_ ~ but did I really abandon you when you had already let me down so long before that…”

The blood rushing to his face until now receded, cleaning his veins from the adrenaline as well and Misaki could only felt the cold gnawing him from the inside. His chest was hollow and he’d identified it later as his true despair. Hollowness growing more and more when Saruhiko turned on his heels, probably not knowing what to do with an unusually quiet Misaki.

It was the most terrible thing Misaki knew - watching Saruhiko’s back as he walked out of an alley. _Again_.

Maybe it’s the reason why he got up eventually. He couldn’t tell because his body felt numb and worked on his own, acting like an automaton. He picked the knife up from the ground mechanically too and held it hard into his anesthetized fingers. His wrist jerked forward without him noticing too and the knife was flying into the darkness. It passed by Saruhiko’s face from an inch maybe but it was enough. All Misaki had hoped for – because it made the lanky boy turn again and face him with that startled look on his stupid fucking face.

“This small, little world,” he heard himself say, voice trembling a bit. “You never fucking left it _Saru_. Because it wasn’t a place, it never was! It’s here,” he stated, hoarse, a hand on the matching insignia. “It was in us and I never wanted you to step out of it.”

The hand slowly ran lower and settled over his heart. Misaki felt his throat tighten, his cheek were still wet with tears – some of them recent. He knew Saruhiko was about to laugh at him, he was used to it, to Saruhiko mocking everything he stood for and every feeling he dared to express out loud.

Instead he heard a snort. A snort and the wind to his ear as the knife flew back and barely missed his own cheek.

“Don’t go telling people your romantic shit after throwing knives at them. It’s confusing, Misakiii~.”

Misaki’s fists clenched deliciously painfully. His heart was already hammering against his ribcage again, brought back to life.

“So what was that, _Saru_? Did you just confessed back?”

The only answer he got came as a second knife he barely dodged, this time.


End file.
